


Unwilling Admiration

by ladydragon76



Category: Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-24
Updated: 2011-05-24
Packaged: 2017-10-19 18:08:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/203781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladydragon76/pseuds/ladydragon76
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><b>Summary:</b> Blurr does NOT like him.  He doesn't!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unwilling Admiration

**Author's Note:**

> **‘Verse:** IDW  
>  **Series:** None  
>  **Rating:** NC-17  
>  **Pairing:** Blurr/Drift  
>  **Warnings:** None  
>  **Note:** Prompt: Blurr/Drift/Sticky. Blurr wants Drift. Also a special thanks again to antepathy. It’s her Blurr and Drift that have inspired much of my head canon for them. Primus on a pogo stick this was hard to get done. I don’t know Drift at all, but let the muse have her head on this when the little snot was willing to talk to me. Please forgive any ooc-ness. Hope y’all enjoy!

Blurr had it. It was safe in his subspace, and all he needed to do was get back to the shuttle, then the team could fall back, and they could get back to the Xantium, and get the frag away from this rock. He’d like to blast it from space. That’d fix the Decepticons real quick.

He tore along the path, a wide route, a ways from the fire fight everyone else was engaged in.

Blurr was smashing into the ground before the pain even managed to shoot up his leg. //I’m down!// he shouted over the comm, more in complete shock than as a cry for help. He slid to a stop, the fire from whatever had caused him to fall, and the rather rough tumble finally making itself felt.

He twisted over, looked down, his optics going wide, the color bleeding away. There was a harpoon through his right ankle. He rarely ever got hurt, and he stared dumbly, trying to absorb the truth of the situation. It had been painful, but seeing it somehow made it so much worse. How was he going to run like this?

He only noticed the cable attached to the barb when the slack was taken out of it. Blurr followed it, dazed, a thick blanket of denial settling over his mind. He couldn’t have been _caught_! He was _Blurr_! He was too fast to be caught!

“Well, looky what I got.”

Blurr looked up at the rather large Decepticon. He went for his blaster, but a hard jerk on the cable ripped a sharp cry from him, and he reached instead for the cable, fearing his leg would be torn apart.

The Decepticon reeled him in, and there was nothing Blurr could do about it. Either the cable or the barbed end of the harpoon needed cut off before the bar could be extracted. He was lifted by that cable, hands pulled away by a powerful, painful grip, and left to dangle in agony as the Decepticon walked into a husk of a building.

“Gonna be a nice payday for me.”

Blurr was swung, his vocalizer glitching static as he choked off the scream. He landed hard on a… table, and was jerked so his legs hung over the edge of it.

“But first. We gotta make sure you can’t go zippin’ off somewhere.”

Blurr’s legs were gripped and jerked apart. He gasped, fear lancing ice through his lines. His right thigh was pinned to the table, the large fingers digging into his light armor. He could feel the compression. The Decepticon leaned over him, pushing his left thigh up and out. Blurr stared up at the leer, moving his hand carefully.

“You’re flexible, huh? Most mechs would be screamin’ by now.” He pushed further, and Blurr winced as the gears in his hip joint reached their limits.

Blurr panted, shook his head in denial, whimpered, tried to look terrified and helpless. He slipped his blaster from his subspace while the Decepticon laughed at him.

Blurr shoved the blaster in his face, and pulled the trigger reflexively. Repeatedly.

The Decepticon died while still laughing, but Blurr had made a critical error. The large mech fell forward, his weight pushing Blurr’s joint past its range of motion. He felt and heard the _pop_ , blazing agony spreading down his leg, across his pelvis, and up his back in a single, horrible rush.

Blurr screamed, shoving at the mech frantically. Off _now_! The Decepticon began to slide back, but when he finally fell, Blurr tumbled with him.

He lay whimpering, vents heaving, and fighting the impulse to purge his tanks from the pain. His left leg was useless, limp and dragging as he pulled himself across the floor and away from the corpse. His right ankle was still bound by the cable and harpoon, and it fragging hurt too.

But more than the pain was the psychological impact.

His _legs_.

Primus, if he couldn’t run, he was _nothing_. He knew it even if he pretended it wasn’t true. Feared in the deepest recesses of his mind that the others would one day realize it. Brush him off as unimportant. Make him useless.

Movement startled Blurr, and he swung his blaster up, firing. The shot ricocheted off the blade of Drift’s great sword. They both froze a moment, then Drift’s optic ridge arched up. His optics shifted as he took in the scene.

“Damn.”

Blurr stared. Damn? He took a look around, trying also to imagine what he must look like after crashing while running close to his top speed. Ok. Damn summed it up neatly.

“Hold still,” Drift ordered, then took a swing at the cable. It came apart as if it’d been spider silk instead of reinforced, braided steel. “Guessing you walking back’s out of the question.”

“Left hip’s dislocated too,” Blurr said, voice hollow, faint.

Drift nodded, sheathed his sword, then swept Blurr up. Blurr clutched his shoulders, clenching his jaw so the scream came out only a high, but thankfully muffled keen.

“Not going to be comfortable,” Drift warned, then he ran.

~ | ~

“-have much of a threshold for pain, does he?” asked a voice.

“I do not recall seeing him hurt before.” That was… Perceptor. Right? “Blurr?”

“Leave him.” That was definitely Drift, and very close. Blurr managed to peel open an optic just enough to see his face was pressed against an expanse of white. “No point putting him down, only to have to lift him again.”

Yes, Primus, please don’t move him! He gasped as the shuttle bumped to a stop, the slight motion more than enough to stab agony into his hip again. He muted his vocalizer as Drift stood, but nothing could hide the faster rate from his intakes.

“The frag happened?” Kup demanded. Blurr ignored him, and really everyone, and just tried to remember to keep his vents going. He felt over-warm, which wasn’t a state he was accustomed to outside of running.

“He was targeted,” Drift said, and Blurr heard Kup swear creatively as he was shown the barb still lodged through Blurr’s ankle. “Fragged up his hip too.”

They were walking, quickly, but thank Primus Drift was graceful, his gait smooth.

“I shall see to what I can, then put him in the CR chamber,” Perceptor said.

Blurr shook his head, but Drift hushed him, and then he was too busy writhing in agony as he was laid on the med berth.

“Easy, Blurr. You will be fine.” No sooner had Perceptor spoken, than a sharp pinch caught Blurr in his neck. Fragging sedatives. He was out before he could complain.

~ | ~

The problem with sedatives was that they just didn’t work quite right on Blurr. His systems, like everything else about him, worked quickly and flushed them out. So it was with resignation, rather than shock, that he opened his optics to see the warped view of their little medbay through the transparent walls of the CR tank.

What was surprising was seeing Drift pacing in front of the tank. One hand or the other occasionally flicked out in random gestures as if he were talking, and when he turned, Blurr saw he actually was.

_Weird-Wonder-what-the-slag-he’s-got-to-chat-to-an-empty-medbay-about._

Blurr watched, unmoving. He didn’t really want Drift to see he was awake yet, and he could also still feel a dull ache even as he floated weightless. He did not want to test that ache and have it blossom to full-blown pain.

He had only been in a CR tank once before, and where some mechs might panic, he relaxed. He had more than enough thoughts to entertain himself with, and the energon-rich gel was cool enough that he didn’t need to use his respiration. Which, really, with all his vents and thin plating he didn’t breathe as much as other mechs as it was. It wasn’t disturbing to him to leave his respiration off.

This time he also had Drift to watch.

Blurr had to wonder, was it orders? Had Drift been sent to get him? Or did he just like being a hero? He had saved Perceptor after all. Blurr hadn’t even known Perceptor was down. No, not just down, fragged all to the Pit.

Drift probably just liked being a hero. Blurr couldn’t recall hearing any orders over the comms for anyone to come after him, and Drift didn’t even like him.

That rankled. What about him wasn’t there to like?

Blurr was a happy mech. He was doing something useful that none of the others could do. It wasn’t even a conceit thing. He was the fastest. He could dash into enemy territory, set bombs, steal information, or simply rush into position and then wait. He was no slouch with a rifle either. So he didn’t mess with hand to hand. Was that why Drift didn’t respect him? It wasn’t like the Autobots had an abundance of the special light alloys that made up Blurr’s frame. He had to protect himself _for_ the cause.

Blurr would have snorted in irritation, but just then Drift looked up at him. It looked like something Drift had done plenty of times before, automatic, not expecting to see bright blue optics watching him. He was looking back down before his optics flared, his whole frame flinched in surprise, and he shot his gaze back to Blurr’s smirking face.

//What are you doing awake?!//

Blurr lifted a shoulder in a shrug, still irritated enough with Drift not to feel like responding verbally.

Drift stared a moment, mouth flattening into straight, severe line. //How long have you been awake?//

Blurr gave him a sharp grin.

Only a moment later the medbay doors opened, and Perceptor bustled in. //Blurr! Why- Oh.// Perceptor’s optics brightened in sudden understanding, and Blurr frowned as he watched him walk to the side counter, then return with a syringe. Blurr shook his head, moving, hands pressing to the transparasteel, but Perceptor was already administering the sedative through the line. //I shall be more diligent, Blurr. My apologies.//

Blurr watched the blue liquid slide through the tube and into his circulation. He gave Perceptor a glare.

//Nighty night,// Drift purred over the comms.

Blurr turned his glare on him, trying to ignore the odd flutter that tone in Drift’s voice caused in him, and fight the sedative. He lost the battle with recharge, but at least he didn’t have to think on how nice it would be to hear that low purring tone right next to his audial. He also didn’t have to think on just why he suddenly found Drift’s voice so pleasant.

~ | ~

When Blurr woke, it was to someone touching him. He blinked open his optics and stared, startled to see Drift buffing his lower leg.

“Why are you touching me?” Blurr demanded, jerking his foot away. Luckily it didn’t hurt.

“He is assisting me,” Perceptor said from Blurr’s left as he returned to the med berth. “You were unconscious. Only just out of the CR chamber.”

Blurr pushed himself up, wincing a little as his left hip pulled with the motion. “I don’t need help to dry off.” One optic ridge raised on Perceptor, and Blurr settled into a silent frown. Perceptor was all right. He shouldn’t be snapping at him. “Thank you,” he forced out, “but I can manage from here.”

Drift jerked the cloth away when Blurr reached for it, his mouth pressing back into that severe line. Blurr snarled, not really at Drift, but at the sudden rush of desire to lick right across those lips and take away the seriousness. The frag had that come from?!

“Fine.” Drift threw the cloth at him, and stomped out.

To his left, Perceptor vented a sigh. “That was unnecessary,” he admonished, and set about helping Blurr dry despite a few more half-sparked protests.

~ | ~

Blurr limped into the common room. His mood hadn’t improved in the last few days, and the constant ache in his hip only made things worse.

“Hey there, limpy,” Topspin called out.

“Think it’s ‘gimpy’,” Twin Twist said, eying Blurr as he growled audibly.

“Careful,” Drift said suddenly behind Blurr. “Gimpy woke up in a mood.”

Blurr glanced back, and sneered. “Why are you here? And how would _you_ know how I woke up?”

Drift winked, and slipped by him, saying to the brothers, “See? A _mood_.” They chuckled, and Blurr forced another growl to cover the flutter in his spark and the flash of warmth between his thighs Drift’s wink had caused.

He spun around, wincing as both hip and ankle twinged.

The frag was wrong with him?

~ | ~

Blurr was being antisocial, an odd thing for him, but everywhere he went, there was Drift. He would grin, or say something in that smooth, soft voice of his, or brush a little too close to Blurr, and…

Blurr would snap. He’d lash out, snarling or growling or hissing. He _hissed_ at Drift! And everyone was noticing, but Blurr couldn’t seem to help himself. His spark would flutter, his interface would online and heat, and he would just… snap.

Primus, he was absolutely _sure_ Drift had heard his spike thump against his panel as he leaned past Blurr, their EM fields brushing. There had been _nothing_ in Drift’s motions to indicate he was doing it on purpose. He had been talking to Springer, wasn’t even looking at Blurr as he reached for the datapad.

Blurr entered his code quickly. It was late, which was why he was out, but he really didn’t want to run into anyone. Particularly Drift.

He reset the lock, and turned, freezing when he spotted Drift smirking at him from his berth.

“I think we have a problem,” Drift said, voice sending little shivers of awareness right down Blurr’s back.

Blurr leapt instantly to the offensive. “Slagging right we do! The frag are you doing in my room?!”

Drift rose, all smooth grace and silent footsteps. He moved in a way that made Blurr jealous, and he was far from clumsy or lumbering. It also made him want to lick along Drift’s thigh-hip joint, but he pushed that delicious little thought aside.

Drift crowded him back against the door, optics dim. “Thought you’d be pleased by it.” Then his mouth was on Blurr’s, and there was no resisting that.

Blurr couldn’t really recall how they got there, but next he knew, they were on his berth, Drift arching under him, hips rolling up as Blurr sank his spike into tight, wet heat. He moaned, setting a hard pace. He’d denied himself any sort of release for weeks, hating the fantasies that spring to mind. Drift didn’t seem to mind, and Blurr kept as quiet as he could so he could absorb every pleasure-sound the white mech made.

Time seemed to stretch, and Blurr whimpered as Drift cried out beneath him, and...

Nothing.

Nothing happened, no backlash of charge, not his own overload. Nothing.

Blurr shoved himself upright, blinking down at his empty berth, then looking frantically around the room. He only just stopped himself from calling out for Drift. His systems thrummed, he was actually hot. Enough to have kicked away the thermal blanket he had to recharge under to keep from being uncomfortably cold while his systems ran slower.

It’d been a dream.

Rage burned through the painful arousal, and Blurr punched his berth as hard as he could, cursing everything from Drift, to himself, to the Decepticon that had taken him down and turned Drift into his rescuer and started this ridiculous obsession.

~ | ~

It was getting worse.

Not just the dreams when he recharged, but the waking fantasies as Blurr tried to read a datapad, or stared off into space through the view ports. He’d been especially careful on the last mission, worried about his finally healed hip, but more. The last fragging thing he needed was Drift _touching_ him.

It was so bad that Springer had ordered him to stop being so damn nasty to everyone, and threatened him with insubordination if he didn’t. What a joke. Like Wreckers were actually ever subordinate outside of combat. And even then, not really always.

Kup was watching him too. He hadn’t said anything yet, but Blurr knew he was trying to work it out. Once he did, he’d drag Blurr off for a chat. Primus, he did _not_ want to have that conversation.

Blurr crept into the medbay. He hadn’t been careful enough, and now needed a small patch for his arm. He’d waved it off as nothing, and with everyone still on a battle high -not to mention he wasn’t exactly approachable lately- Perceptor had backed off.

Unfortunately, the gouge was on the outside of his upper arm, hard to see.

“Here,” Drift said taking the patch, and applying it.

Blurr stared, optics narrowing. “Why are you here?!” he snapped, belatedly jerking his arm away.

No. No fragging way. He _knew_ he was awake. He was _not_ going to have some sordid fantasy while probably staring blankly at the frelling medbay wall.

Drift’s face darkened, and he stepped into Blurr’s personal space. Blurr fought to remain still. There was a threatening aura to Drift that hadn’t ever been a part of his fantasies. He wasn’t into that sort of thing, at least not if he was on the receiving end.

“Helping. You hit your head or something? The ‘Con pop you one hard enough to scramble something in there?”

Blurr’s fists clenched. “I hate you,” he hissed. He really did. Right in that moment he hated Drift more than anything else. Ever. All he wanted was to touch, taste, lose himself buried in the mech that had never liked him, but had helped him when no one else would have, could have.

The impotent fury and frustration boiled over, and Blurr was swinging before even he realized he would strike. His entire arm jarred, the impact of his fist forcing him to step back to keep his balance.

Drift raised an optic ridge, and glanced to where he had captured Blurr’s fist in his hand. Blurr’s vents hitched and he shifted back as a slow, malicious smile curved Drift’s lips.

Primus help him, he was going to get his aft pounded to slag, and all he could think about was how much he wanted to press his mouth to those lips.

Blurr retreated, but with his fist locked in Drift’s he didn’t get anywhere. “Let go.” This was too much like his stupid fantasies. He had to escape. He jerked his arm, but Drift easily held on.

“Hate me, huh?” There was a dangerous edge to Drift’s voice. “Why?”

Blurr blinked. Why? “Because you’ve never liked me. Because you like to play hero.” _Because-I-want-you-so-slagging-bad-I-might-overload-if-you-just-stand-too-close-for-too-long!_ “Stop touching me!” He tugged again, stepping back, and flinching as his back hit the wall. Slag.

Drift frowned, did not release his hand, and stared hard, his gaze holding Blurr in place as much as the wall behind him did. “So you hate me, have been a fragging afthead for a _month_ because I helped you, and you think I don’t like you?” Drift paused, but Blurr didn’t answer. “Does hearing it out loud help you see how stupid that is?”

“Slag off!” Blurr brought his other hand up to shove Drift back, but that one was caught too, and both hands were slammed to the wall to either side of his helm. Hard.

Drift stepped close, a low growl of his own sounding. “If you try to hit me one more time, I’m going to beat you down.”

Blurr believed him, but bared his teeth, hissing, “I was going to push you away from me, not hit you.” Fragging Pits! He could feel his systems heating. Drift’s energy field was just close enough to tease his own. His vents had picked up, but hopefully Drift would attribute that to anger, not lust.

“Fine. Whatever.”

Drift made to step back, and Blurr whined. It was just a tiny sound. One he most certainly hadn’t intended to escape him, but it sure caught Drift’s attention. His optics brightened, then narrowed. No one would claim his processor worked as fast as Blurr’s, but it worked fast enough.

“You’re a twisted little thing, aren’t you?”

Blurr made a face. “Am not.”

“You’re liking this.” To prove it, Drift stepped closer, tightening his grip. Blurr shook his head, but Drift huffed a short laugh. “You are.” The amusement at his expense sent the rage pouring back through him, but Drift pressed their chests together, venting a light exhalation of warm air over the side of Blurr’s face. Blurr shivered, optics closing as he twisted his helm away. “You like it rough, Blurr?” Drift purred.

He did, but not the way he was pretty sure Drift meant. “Let me go.”

“But this is what you want, isn’t it?”

Blurr shook his head. It wasn’t. It really wasn’t. He wanted Drift under him, begging him to take him, crying out as Blurr finally did.

“You know all you had to do was ask? Or was the jerk act just part of your game?” Drift asked, pressing a knee between Blurr’s, his voice low, rich in Blurr’s audial.

“Not a game,” he managed to croak, vocalizer catching on a light burst of static.

“I don’t like games, Blurr.” Drift said, voice suddenly hard, angry.

He was gone so fast, Blurr stumbled forward, hand shooting out to grab the countertop. “Not. A. _Fragging!_ Game!” he snarled. “Primus, I hate you!” Drift stopped and turned back, optic ridge raised, but the floodgates had apparently opened for Blurr, and as he stood outside himself, watching horror-struck, his vocalizer just kept going. “I-never-wanted-you-before!-Oh-fine!-So-you’re-pretty,-but-I’ve-had-more-beautiful-mechs-than-you,-and-you-don’t-even- _like_ -me!-They- _worshipped_ -me!-I-don’t-know-what-the-frag-is-wrong-with-me,-but-I-know-it’s-your-fault!-Why?!-Why-did-you-come-for-me?-Why-did-you-stay-in-the-medbay?-Why-do-you-keep- _touching_ -me-and-driving-me-crazy?!”

Blurr covered his face with his hands. Primus. He really was glitched. Had he hit his helm when he went down? That might explain a few things, and it wasn’t like he’d checked his injuries at the time.

“Lemme get this straight,” Drift said. “You’ve got a crush on me because I happened to be the closest to your location when you called for help. And this is my fault?”

Too late to take it back now, Blurr dropped his hands, and leaned back against the counter. He stared at the floor, voice flat. “Yes.” He glanced up, narrowing his optics into a glare, voice heating. “And it _is_ your fault.” And why the frag was Drift moving closer to him? The urge to bolt was almost overwhelming, but a more powerful, masochistic curiosity to see how this would play out held him in place.

Drift flicked his hand, dismissing the charge. “So instead of doing what any mature mech would do, and, oh, I don’t know, making a move, you decided to be a slagger at every opportunity?” Blurr locked his jaw, glowering in mulish silence. Drift chuckled, stopping too close to Blurr. This time when their fields brushed, it was clearly intentional. “How’s that been working out for ya?”

“I’m going to throw you out the airlock.”

Drift was visibly fighting a laugh as he leaned in, chest to chest again, hands braced on the counter to either side of Blurr. “Terrified.” He sounded anything but. “You know,” he said, brushing his cheek against Blurr’s, “getting ‘faced might just help you.”

Blurr growled, and pushed at Drift’s chest. “Not ‘facing you!” He may as well have been shoving at a mountain.

“Limited time offer,” Drift said. He licked a slow path over Blurr’s audial, chuckle dark velvet as Blurr shivered again. “You really want me to leave, I will, but you snap at me again, and I promise to tell everyone just what your little problem with me is.”

Blurr’s optics flared wide. He dug his hands into transformation seams. “I’ll tear you apart!”

Drift leaned his helm back enough to look Blurr dead in the optics. He just held Blurr’s gaze for a moment. “Going once.”

“I hate you,” Blurr whispered.

“Going twice,” Drift smirked.

Blurr growled, jerking Drift in against him harder, and slammed their mouths together. The growl morphed into a moan as Drift softened, submitted. He was instantly too hot, desperation to keep what remained of his tattered pride the only thing keeping his panel shut. “Berth,” he gasped, and Drift obeyed.

So perfect. Drift’s hands stroked his frame as Blurr pushed him back until they found the nearest med berth. Drift pulled him close, hands at his waist…

Then flipped him. Blurr gasped as he landed on his back. “What-?”

But Drift was already on him, smirking down at him, a low purr vibrating the air between them. “How’s that hip?”

Blurr frowned in confusion. “Fine. Healed.”

“Good.” Drift grasped the back of Blurr’s thigh and pulled it over his hip, rocking down so their panels ground together. Blurr shook his head, shuddering in want, and Drift’s smile grew. “Now you’re just teasing.” He rocked them together again, and chuckled when Blurr refused to open his panel.

This wasn’t how it was supposed to be. Which, if nothing else, helped prove it was real and not just another fantasy. Drift should still be under him though, not making him feel like his internals were melting from the heat. Not nibbling along his neck cables and making the room spin. Another damn whimper escaped, and his body took over, panel opening.

Drift purred, first one, then a second finger pushing into Blurr’s valve. They slipped in easily, and Blurr shut his optics, twisting his face away in embarrassment as Drift toyed with the sensor nodes, wringing more soft sounds from him.

“Still hate me?”

“So fragging much,” Blurr whispered, clinging to Drift’s shoulders, hips lifting into to slow push of his fingers.

Drift chuckled, the sound amused, strangely not cruel given the situation. There was a click, and he removed his fingers. His spike slid slowly home. Blurr arched, moaning, rarely touched sensor nodes firing, making lust and need coil tight in his belly. He clamped his thighs to Drift’s hips, rocking himself up and back. He lasted through four thrusts before his valve drew tight, back bowing, head thrown back. He keened, lost in the bliss of the moment, and was left panting when the overload finally eased.

Blurr blinked up at Drift, face heating as he was smirked at.

“Always that fast?”

Frowning, Blurr shook his head. He was a good lover. Pride and ego allowed nothing less, and he had long ago chafed at the joke that Racers did it faster.

Drift grinned. “So just me then,” he purred, helm dipping to nibble along Blurr’s lips. “Hard to mind that.”

Blurr winced. “You… didn’t, did you?”

Drift shook his head, smile widening. “Not done with you.”

Blurr whimpered, hands clutching, trying to hold on with his legs as Drift pulled away.

“Not done with you,” Drift repeated, his hands gripping Blurr’s waist.

Blurr was flipped again, legs falling over the edge of the med berth, one of Drift’s arms wound under the front of his pelvic plating, hand gripping the opposite hip. He gasped, back arching, feet kicking a little trying to reach the floor as Drift filled him again. The new position changed the angle, changed how deep Drift could bury himself. Blurr whimpered, clawing at the berth padding.

Drift’s free hand curled over Blurr’s shoulder, pushing down, his thumb pressing into the back of Blurr’s neck. “Hurt?”

“No,” Blurr gasped, hips wriggling.

“Good.”

Blurr whimpered again as Drift pulled back, crying out as he plunged back in, pace hard and fast, almost brutal. It was perfect. Blurr was loud, even pressing his face into the berth, he was embarrassingly loud, but couldn’t help it. The charge was building already again, and he could do nothing but submit to the onslaught of sensation.

“Drift,” he gasped.

There was an answering growl, the angle of the thrusts shifting as Drift leaned down over Blurr. “Louder,” he murmured, nipping along the wing flare of Blurr’s helm.

Blurr keened, writhing. He yelped Drift’s name, the tempo picking up.

“Louder, “ Drift ordered, pushing himself back up, pulling Blurr bodily back into every thrust.

Blurr pressed his helm to the berth, sensor net blazing, body winding tight. “ _Drift!_ ” he screamed as pure rapture burst free within him. He sobbed in ragged moans as Drift pounded into him, only to go suddenly still, a long, low moan rolling through the medbay.

A hot wash of transfluid over his valve nodes made Blurr shiver and tremble as aftershocks rippled and bounced through his systems. Drift dropped forward with a groan, both of them panting, vents heaving heated air. Blurr lay limp across the berth, unwilling to attempt moving yet.

Drift’s thumb stroked up and down the back of his neck in a soothing gesture, and Blurr realized he was still whimpering. He was surprised. Usually it was him purring softly, touching gently to bring the mech he’d just driven wild back down.

“Still hate me?” Drift asked, purring, kissing a light path along Blurr’s helm wing.

Blurr shifted, inhaled deeply, blowing the last of the excess heat from his frame. He turned his face back as far as he could, Drift tipping his helm so they could see one another. “Which answer gets you back in my berth?”

A smile broke across Drift’s face, then he laughed. He pulled away with a final soothing touch to the back of Blurr’s neck, and Blurr stood and turned, ignoring the weakness in his knees. The smile was contagious. Or something because Blurr found himself smiling back. Drift leaned in and gave Blurr a heated kiss, then he was heading for the door. 

“Never didn’t like you,” Drift called back as the door slid shut between them.

Blurr grinned into the empty room for a few moments, then looked down, snorting in minor annoyance.

Fragger. Left all the mess for Blurr to clean up.

“Next time,” he promised himself.


End file.
